


Pheromones and Cheeseburgers

by Elpie (Horribibble), Malapropian



Series: To Love Your Footfalls [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Subversion, Awkward Flirting, Bullying, Fluff, Humor, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Stiles Stilinski, The Omega Screech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/pseuds/Malapropian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At seventeen years of age, Stiles is done with the Dynamic Binary. </p><p>And then Ennis Declan shows up. </p><p>-</p><p>Just as abruptly as Jackson swooped in to ruin a perfectly good day, he’s floating in the air. Well, not floating exactly. He’s been picked up like he weighs about as much as a pillow by a guy that looks like he bench presses elephants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pheromones and Cheeseburgers

**Author's Note:**

> Here begins our ode to Stennis, which has become a surprise favorite (in varying levels of kink). 
> 
> There's so little known about Ennis that when one of us said, "But what if AU where he's a great guy?" we embraced secret-fluff Ennis with no reservations. If you're looking for anything remotely canon, this is not the thing you want. 
> 
> We hope you enjoy it, because we certainly are. 
> 
> Special thanks go out to [Besin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Besin) for recording the Omega Screech.

At twelve years old, Stiles is lucky that they haven’t started up lacrosse yet. Having Jackson Whittemore’s foot pressed against his jaw and grinding his face into the dirt would have hurt a lot worse if he were wearing cleats. His pride is still sore, but at least it won’t leave marks his dad can see.

Really, he’s okay down here. He can almost ignore the sounds of other kids chanting for a fight, just stare up at the sky and wait for Jackson to finish posturing for everyone. It’s peaceful if he ignores the pain thing. When he stays still for too long, Jackson’s handsome face scrunches up in a scowl. There’s no fight in him, and that’s no fun.

“Beta Bitch.” He spits on Stiles’ cheek. “What do you need to be so pretty for, anyway?”

Stiles doesn’t answer, first because Jackson’s just looking for an excuse, and second because Jackson couldn’t be more wrong. Stiles Stilinski isn’t a Beta, he’s an Omega. He doesn’t _want_ to be, but he is, and no amount of hiding slick-soiled bedsheets is going to change it.

He _wishes_ he was a Beta. He could be so lucky.

He’d rather sit down here in the dirt for a little longer before ever _considering_ sitting on Jackson Whittemore’s dick. But biology would have him believe this kind of aggression is normal, that Alphas are just honing their skills to better serve their future Omega.

People like Jackson Whittemore are meant to obey his whims, to _want_ to do things for him and kiss his ass just because biology says he’s some kind of fucked up hormonal golden child.

He manages to get a hold of a cocktail of suppressants from Scott’s mom, and he intends to use them. This is the last straw. Fuck Alphas and Omegas. Fuck the Breeding Triangle and all of the charts in the nurse’s office. He’d rather choke than take a knot.

Things don’t get much better after that. Not for a while.

* * *

 

At thirteen years old, Stiles is a confirmed Omega, and four people know: Stiles, his dad, Melissa, and his doctor. He’s perfectly happy being on drugs and playing at being a Beta like Scott. Occasionally, people whisper about his dynamic, but he can’t really stop that.

The Breeding Binary is supposed to place Omegas at the top, honored and obeyed, and the student council is made up of primarily Omegas. They’re tacticians and quick thinkers, always good with diplomacy. If all else fails, they’re fast and ruthless. Alphas are meant to serve the needs of Omegas, to protect them and serve their needs. They’re built for force and comfort, in a domestic setting.

If we’re talking MMO labels here, Omegas are Rogues or maybe Warlocks for the minions, and Alphas are Tanks. Betas… well, Betas are lucky enough not to have to play.

But teenagers are stupid, and Alphas often fall into the trap of becoming overzealous meatheads posturing around manipulative Omegas. Manipulation can fail, and Omegas are just as susceptible to coercion and anger than anyone else.

When Stiles catches the scent of a classmate in distress, it makes him angry. It’s not _right_ for Alphas to get into an Omega’s space. It’s not right for Alphas to get in _anyone’s_ space. It makes him angry, and angry Stiles is vicious as hell. (An Omega quirk, if you will.)

He’s had more than one detention for nailing people in the kidneys for boxing other students in, tugging at their hair and clothes, talking about making them take their knot. They’re all _thirteen_ , and it’s already so stupid.

So what if it confuses people? Stiles doesn’t have to explain a thing. Scott keeps things from getting too bad, so sometimes Stiles goes home with a sprained wrist, a black eye, or a split lip, and his father tells the teachers it won’t happen again.

He marches Stiles out of the school and waits until they’re settled in the car to clap a hand on his shoulder and say, “I’m proud of you.”

And for a while after each incident, people wonder if maybe Stilinski’s just the weediest Alpha after all. But he’s not telling. They can all go fuck themselves.

-

At fifteen years old, Stiles is well-versed in dynamic politics. They’re terrifying as hell. It’s oversimplifying to say that Omegas rule and Alphas obey. It’s also oversimplifying to say that Omegas are the brains and Alphas are the brawn.

It makes just a _bit_ more sense to say that Omegas are manipulative assholes and Alphas are ornery punching bags, eager to jump into a fight to prove just how much they can take and just how good they’ll be in bed. Which makes no sense, really, but then again-- _teenagers_.

Things tended to balance out in adulthood, focusing more on Alphas as providers and Omegas as guardians in a well-balanced partnership, but...again, _teenagers_. Stiles overhears Lydia Martin, red-haired Omega goddess, tell a few friends that she wouldn’t _dream_ of settling for a _whiny Alpha boy_. She’d much rather fuck a grown man.

But she’s fifteen years old, and Jackson adores her, and none of them know what the hell they’re talking about anyway. Sometimes Stiles wonders how they’ll all get out of this in one piece. He wonders if his mom ever wanted to punch his dad the way he wants to punch his _entire high school class_.

Dad says she did, once. And he loves his dad, but he bets it was pretty satisfying.

* * *

 

Stiles would have given up on the binary altogether if it weren’t for his dad and the deputies at the station. The local precinct is, for the most part, staffed by Alphas with the notable exception of Laney Finstock.

Laney’s the one they send out when they know a suspect is going to put up a fight or try to run away. In her time at the BHSD, Laney’s probably tackled more dipshit meth heads than your average New York beat cop. And she enjoys it, too. She calls it Bitch Patrol, and she grins like a madwoman when the call comes in.

Her partner, Maria Reyes, is an Alpha who is completely at ease with cackling and heckling as Laney runs them down and gives them road rash.

It’s in those moments that everyone gets how she keeps up with Coach.

She’s Stiles’ favorite after Jordan, who he may have an on-again, off-again crush on. It’s not _just_ hormonal - even though Jordan smells _nice_. If there weren’t so damned many of them, Jordan Parrish would have been enough to restore his faith in Alphas as a dynamic.

He’s pleasant, considerate, and he has never once flicked Stiles in the ear for causing trouble. He debates current events with him and takes his input into account on the active cases that Stiles isn’t supposed to know about. (Everyone’s long given up on keeping his little button nose out of the records. It’s just not worth the manpower.)

So Stiles spends a decent amount of his time being treated like a little brother by the Alphas at the station, having his hair ruffled and his back slapped. He hopes that his classmates get their shit together eventually. Because it’d be a real shame if Laney Finstock had to worry about half of his graduating class.

* * *

 

At seventeen, Stiles has had _enough_.

It’s the summer before his senior year, and he is fully prepared to get the hell out of Dodge. There’s only so much one person can be expected to take before drop-kicking humanity in the face. College has to be better than this.

He’s standing in front of Mona’s Diner and his face is redder than her cherry pie milkshakes, Jackson Whittemore standing inches away and spitting yet more hateful bullshit about Beta bitches and dickless wonders. The only reason his nose is still pointed straight is because Stiles is banking on a hefty college scholarship and Ray Whittemore is _not_ going to take it away from him.

If the universe were fair, the ground would open up and _swallow_ this douchebag. Stiles can picture it in his mind, can almost _taste_ it. But then, just as abruptly as Jackson swooped in to ruin a perfectly good day, he’s floating in the air.

Well, not _floating_ exactly. He’s been picked up like he weighs about as much as a pillow by a guy that looks like he bench presses elephants. He smiles like everything is perfectly normal as he saunters over to the dumpster in the side alley and plops Jackson down atop the pile of foul-smelling trash bags. The lid closes with a pleasant ‘thwump’, and he dusts his hands before walking back over to Stiles.

“You all right, Omega?”

Stiles blinks at him dumbly, because who the hell just tosses someone into a dumpster? And how does this guy _know_? Stiles has been taking all of his suppressants and doing all of his exercises. For all intents and purposes, he walks, talks, and quacks like a beta.

“How did you…?”

“He wasn’t that heavy, for being a complete douchebag. Guess he was mostly hot air.”

Stiles wants to laugh, but it’s not what he meant. “No, I mean... how did you _know_?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m… you know…”

“Getting harassed? Really cute?”

“ _An Omega_ , oh my _g-d_.”

The man laughs, and taps his nose.

“Bullshit,” Stiles says. “I pop suppressants like Pez, there’s no way you fucking _scented my pheromones_.”

“I meant your natural scent. It’s… pleasant.”

“No way. Werewolf?”

The man holds up his index finger and thumb to indicate ‘a little bit’, and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Of course. That explains the…” He waves his hand toward the dumpster. “I appreciate it, anyway. I’m Stiles. Stilinski.”

Stiles offers a hand to shake, and the man steps forward to cradle it in his palm. Stiles was expecting a firm grip, two pumps. Not a pair of warm lips pressed to the inside of his wrist. He’s read plenty of old romance novels for shits and giggles, this should _not_ be turning his insides to pudding.

Doesn’t stop him from wanting to cuddle. Or kick himself in the guts.

“Ennis Declan, at your service,” the Alpha says with a shit-eating grin. “Can I buy you a burger?”

“Curly fries?” Stiles squeaks.

“So many curly fries.”

Stiles is not going Omega gaga over this guy. He’s not. He totally intends to pay for himself. But his belly still does little flips when Ennis holds open the door. Fuck.

* * *

 

Mona’s is a long-time favorite for Beacon Hills’ locals. It’s a slightly dingy, super casual, seat yourself kind of diner, but the curly fries and custard sundaes are to die for. Stiles hopes that the perpetually low light will help hide his bright red cheeks.

He can’t help but feel flustered. Ennis is like a romance novel cover come to life with his manners and stupidly attractive muscles and boyishly charming grin. Things like this don’t happen to him. He’d wonder if it’s a joke, but not many people would throw Jackson into a dumpster just to get one over on him.

Too many lawsuits.

“So, uh. I’ve never seen you around town before. Are you new to the bustling metro that is Beacon Hills?”

“My pack just relocated. We’re joining with the Hales. You know them?”

“Everyone in town knows them. There’s like twenty of them, they’re kind of hard to miss.”

“My Alpha’s bonding with Peter Hale.”

Stiles sucks in a breath and winces, “Oh, good luck, man. I mean, wow. Great news. Good job. Does he own a cup?”

Ennis smirks. “Why do you think I left the house? They have this warped hot and cold BDSM relationship going on. I’ve _seen_ things. Derek said this place had decent burgers and was also, y’know, _conveniently Peter free_.”

“Aw, he’s not that bad. Peter’s always been nice to me.”

“You’re an Omega. He doesn’t feel the biological need to herd you. Or make you wear assless chaps.”

“Things I never needed to know for five hundred ew.”

“So you know him?”

“Well, I mean we don’t really talk anymore, but he was always nice to me when he came around for Book Club. He'd keep me company and read to me when the adults were busy."

“Book Club?” Ennis frowns like he’s trying to reconcile gimp masks and cock rings with finger sandwiches and Penguin Classics.

“It’s pretty much Omega code for Shadow Council. There’s some seriously scary shit the mom squad gets up to after hours. Peter always told me I’d be a heartbreaker when I grew up. I used to think that sounded cool.”

“Nah,” Ennis says, “You don’t seem like the type.”

Stiles smiles at him and pops his straw into his mouth, slurping up what remains of his root beer and sucking uselessly at the empty bottom. He sets it back down and goes to grab a refill, but Ennis pushes his glass across the tabletop before he gets far.

“Just take mine. I wasn’t thirsty anymore.”

“Oh, uh… thanks.” Stiles slurps the remaining half down before grabbing both glasses and bouncing up to get more. “Sweet tea, right?”

Ennis nods, looking at him like he’s surprised him pleasantly. “Yeah. Sweet.”

Stiles goes off to remedy the beverage situation and glances back to find Ennis blinking at the window to his left where a pair of built identical twins have smashed their palms and noses against the glass like six-year-olds gearing up for Christmas. They’re _pointing at him_.

This day isn’t going to get any less weird.

Stiles thinks for a moment, then decides that he deserves custard if he’s going to deal with Things One and Two, and shuffles off to the counter while the pair hurries through the door and over to Ennis. He comes back to find that they’ve shuffled seats: the twins are occupying the booth Ennis was sitting in, and Ennis has scooted against the window on Stiles’ side.

He doesn’t really mind.

“So,” Thing One says, “You went out for a burger and wound up on a date… how?”

“And can this skill be taught?”

Stiles snorts out a laugh at that. “Wait, you’re telling me that you think this is a date, and you still crashed it? Nice.”

“Is it?” Ennis asks hopefully, and both interlopers stare at him, channeling the expectant six-year-olds once again.

“Ye...s…?”

“It’s a date,” Thing One says.

“What are you gonna do about it?” asks Thing Two.

“Ask you to _leave_. Why are you _here_?”

“The same reason _you’re_ here,” Thing Two hisses. “Thanks for the heads up, by the way. Christ, are we sure Peter’s not some kind of sex demon?”

Thing One shakes his head. “We just wanted to watch tv, and he turned his head like the chick from the Exorcist and made this pterodactyl noise like what the hell is that.”

 _Pterodactyl noise?_ Stiles thinks for a moment, then smiles very slowly. “Oh, hey. Did it sound anything like--” He takes a delicate breath, then belts out a [screechy, violent sound](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BybarD8lyGcUdkpnRWhnYVdMVDg/view?usp=sharing) not entirely unlike a cat beating a swift retreat out of hell.

All three Alphas, plus several restaurant patrons cringe at the noise, and an elderly man near the back shouts, “I didn’t mean it!”

“ _Yes!_ ” Thing Two massages the knee he banged against the table. “Holy fuck, what is that?”

“That’s the Sexile Screech. It’s pretty much the go-to fuck off noise. Works pretty well, too.”

Thing One pouts a little. “Jesus. I nearly wet myself.”

“Works. Pretty. Well.”

Ennis is quick to introduce them after that, Thing One as ‘Ethan’ and Thing Two as ‘Aiden’, and then promptly tells them to fuck off for a while. Like they needed any more incentive.

“Well,” Ennis says when they’re alone. “ _That_ was pants shittingly terrifying. Also kind of hot.”

Stiles grins. “Once again, ladies and gentlemen. The point.”

“You wanna keep me all to yourself?”

“For a while. Maybe.” He scrunches up his nose and looks down at his custard, poking at a piece of cheesecake cube with his spoon. “If that’s okay.”

Ennis reaches out to dab a patch of dairy treat from his red cheek before popping it into his mouth. “Yeah, that sounds pretty okay.”

Ennis ends up paying before Stiles gets a chance to settle up. Jerk.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for being so awesome. :3
> 
> Malapropian says: [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKk-Tzwuj7k) is the sound I always think of when anyone says pterodactyl screech. I'm old school like that.


End file.
